When The City's Finally Sleeping
by emmy313
Summary: "What's the matter with ya? What do you write about at three in the morning?" "I gotta think about movin' on, kid." Twelve-year-old Jack gets up in the middle of the night to discover he's not the only dreamer. [Prompt: Person A is sick/hurt, Person B needs emotional care/advice/someone to vent to and they end up taking care of each other.]


**March 1895**

 **Jack 12, Tugboat 17**

Jack woke up coughing. He didn't even open his eyes as he rolled over and muffled the sound into his pillow. His throat was killing him. _Can't wake up the others,_ he thought.

He sniffled, which made his throat hurt worse. The heat from their little coal stove downstairs couldn't reach the bedrooms on the top floor. "Dammit." He muttered.

The floor was cold on his bare feet as he stumbled out of bed. All his brothers slept soundly, cocooned in blankets and snoring in their identical rows of bunk beds as Jack tiptoed past them and down the stairs.

A light was on in the living room. Tugboat, silhouetted in shadowy lamplight, was hunched over the table, writing. Why was he up?

"'Ey." Jack said.

Tugboat's knees thumped against the table. "Jesus, kid!" he exclaimed.

"Sorry." Jack said hoarsely. He sat down next to him and coughed harshly into his fist. "Didn't wanna wake up the fellas."

The older boy's brow scrunched up above his soft blue eyes. "Ya sound awful, man." he said. "Yous had that cold a while."

"I'm fine." Jack said. He tried to clear his throat, which made him cough again. "Really. Just didn't wanna wake nobody."

Tugboat's chair scraped against the floor as he stood up. Jack always said they should've nicknamed him Skyscraper. "Lemme make us a drink." He said.

Jack nodded and propped his head up on his fist, staring sleepily into the dancing orange coals as Tugboat shuffled around in the tiny kitchen. Tugboat's beat-up leather journal-the one he'd saved for a month to get-was on the table next to him. Jack slowly reached for the pape underneath, until another coughing fit took over him. He slumped onto the table with his face buried in his arms.

A mug appeared in front of him. "Here."

Jack sat up and took the warm cup between his hands. It burned when he swallowed. "The hell?" He sputtered.

"Hot toddy. Cures everything." Tugboat said, leaning back in his chair and taking a drink of his own. "Shoulda told ya I made it strong. It'll put you to sleep."

Jack cautiously took a drink, then another. It felt good on his throat. "Why the hell are you up?" He asked. "It's...God, what time is it? Two? Three?"

Tugboat scrubbed a hand down his face. "Just...thinkin'." He said. Dark circles under his eyes made him look older than seventeen.

"'Bout what?"

"Don't worry 'bout it." Tugboat said. He reached to feel Jack's forehead but Jack flinched away. "How ya feelin'?"

"Totally healed in the two minutes since ya last asked." Jack said. He closed his eyes and sipped his drink. "Now talk. What's the mattah with ya? What do ya write about at three in the morning?"

Tugboat sighed. "I...I gotta think about movin' on, kid." He said. "I'm gonna be 18 this summer and bein' so damn tall I already got a hard time sellin'. Folks wanna buy from you youngins. I just look like a bum out there."

"That ain't true."

"It _is_ , Jack." Tugboat said. "I-I don't wanna leave y'all. Really, I don't. I...I been fightin' this a long time. And you one of the big reasons I ain't left yet."

"Where ya gonna run off to?" Jack asked. Tears snagged in his voice. Dammit. He should've been used to this. In the almost-two-years he'd been a newsie, he'd seen a few of the older boys age out. They took factory jobs or worked in coal mines. Rumor had it Kid Blink had even married already. Lack of sleep from being sick, he told himself, that was what was making him emotional.

"Nowhere, yet." Tugboat said. "Charlie's crutch and clothes and all set me back a couple dollars. And I-God, kid, believe me-it's worth every single penny to have that new kid safe 'ere with us."

"Damn right it is." Jack said.

"I know. I know." Tugboat chewed on his bottom lip. "But I can't stay here forever, Jack. I can't be a _newsie_ til I'm an old man. I'm fuckin' trapped here. I'm goin' nowhere. I'm always going nowhere! There gotta be somethin' bigger, hasn't there? Somewhere I can think and write and read and-and-and breathe. Goddammit, Jack, I can't _breathe_ in this city."

Last summer, right before Jack's dad died, Tugboat taught him to fold papes with the headline on top. The other big boys, rough and world-weary at sixteen and seventeen, only went to the younger ones when they needed an errand boy. But when Jack first started, Tugboat sat on the curb between him and Race every morning helping them sound out the headlines. Any extra cash Tugboat ended up with rarely went to himself. He bought socks, whiskey, and gum to chew to keep the hunger at bay.

"Where do wanna go?" Jack asked.

He pointed at a train schedule he'd circled in an old pape. "Next pay day I'll have enough to get as far as Saint Louis." He said. "From there, I dunno. I wanna see the mountains."

"Hold up, next-next-" Jack was cut off by another cough.

"Easy, kid." Tugboat put a hand on his arm. "I ain't leavin' yet. I...I can't, 'specially not with the crippled new kid-"

"Charlie."

"Yeah." Tugboat nodded. "Gotta get him settled."

They were quiet a minute. Jack finished his drink. It coated his throat and made him feel warm and sleepy. Tugboat looked down into his empty mug.

"Jack?" Tugboat said. "Do you think I'm crazy for thinkin' we're created for more than just barkin' headlines til we die?"

"No." Jack said. "No, that ain't crazy."


End file.
